Pivot

Row, Three Days Later

Within one hour of pre-production, Riley is pissed. The first thing that sets him off is the looks that the team of producers give me as we cruise into the production offices. They look me up and down in irritation, plaster on their fake smiles, give me air kisses,  pump Riley's hand, and then have one of the AP's come over and tell me very diplomatically, "We're going to need to do some test shots from last season for continuity, okay? There's no time lapse in the script, but you look...a lot different. Absolutely gorgeous. You're glowing, but still, very different from Stella's last scenes. We're going to put together a session for the stylists and the cameramen to..." she sighs, "remake Stella."

She shoots a furtive look toward the producers and steps close. "You didn't hear this from me, but the big cheese is already talking about delaying the shoot of your exit scenes for a month or two...so that you can get back into character."

Riley turns to me, "Row, are you planning to rapidly lose ten pounds, bleach your hair, and spend a month partying so you look like hell—all for three days of shooting your death scenes?"

"Hmmm, I don't think so. No." I feel bad for Laura as I say it. She's one of my actual friends on the crew.

"Right. So I'll just go have a word with Rory and Jones—" Riley begins, but Laura holds up her hand with a wan smile.

"Or, you could just...let me deal with them." She casts a glance over at her bosses. Her expression probably resembles the way I looked, sweeping the maggots out of my kitchen.

Riley gives her a wink and his new gorgeous, uninhibited smile. "Thanks, love. You're the best they've got around here. You should leave this shitshow and come work for my agency. My team needs help, now that I'm a silent partner."

Laura's eyes go wide as she stares at him. Then she laughs nervously. "You know, you both look a lot different. You have great eyes, Riley. I guess I never noticed...behind the glasses."

"I noticed," I say pointedly. "I always noticed." Even I can hear the possession in my voice.

Riley winks at me and chuckles. "Thanks, Laura. I'm...trying something new. We both are." He draws me closer by the waist, pinching me slightly, which I translate as a "settle down, demon."

Laura has the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. She redirects to me, keeping her admiration off my man. "So that song on Frey? You guys are pursuing that?"

"We've formed an exploratory committee to flesh out all the new avenues of our reconciliation." Riley quips, giving me so much heat that I actually feel my face blushing beneath my tan.

I laugh at him. "You are so bad."

He shrugs nonchalantly as Laura sneaks another almost unwillingly look him, mesmerized by his new mo-jo. He gives her his card. "I've always admired your dedication to the cast and crew, Laura. Call me if you want to switch gears into talent management."

"I might do that, Riley. I've been thinking of making a change." She can hardly form the words as she grins at him and backs away slowly.

"Are you serious about hiring her?" I'm not sure how I feel about that, considering how she's suddenly fangirling all over him.

"Got to hire someone to help Ari and Marley. Someone that can hit the ground running. And that I can trust," he murmurs.

"Can you afford her?" I ask anxiously.

"Can I pay her? Yes, that's not the real issue," he says neutrally.

Even as inattentive to the business side of things as I am, I know what that means. Riley's given over his commission on Dev and Daze Gone to Ari, and on Soundcrush to Marley. That means he's only taking a salary as president of his company. Hiring another A-level professional means his paycheck takes a hit. Probably a big one.

"Riley—"

He gives me a swift shoulder squeeze. "Look, the only options I have for making any income with the agency at this point are to sell it or expand it. Let's see if I can let the ladies to generate us a bit of passive income, yeah?"

"So you're going to be like the Boss on Charlie's Angels, huh?" I grin at him. "Just a voice on the line, giving them assignments and atta girls?"

"Yes, rather like that," he beams at me.

But this is the last smile of the day, because Aidan enters the room for the production meeting, and I can feel Riley's good mood edge down slightly. He tenses further when Aidan comes over to shoot the shit with us as if we're all old friends.

He's such an arrogant piece of shit. Why can't he just have the good grace to leave us the hell alone? It's not like he's just an ex-boyfriend like Ratch Gorenson. Or even just an old one night stand like Javi. He's the man I betrayed my husband with, and he acts like Riley shouldn't mind his stupid arrogant presence. Riley shouldn't have to put up with this.

"Aidan, just...fuck off, okay?" Cutting him off mid-sentence ,  I tug Riley away by the hand.

"I'm sorry," I murmur to him.

"Don't apologize for him. Let's just get through this meeting," Riley says with a completely even tone.

Once we sit down at the table, we're given the most recently revised scripts, which blatantly violate my newly revised contract and require me to shoot three episodes with multiple scenes with Aidan, one of them a love scene.

"No. No fucking way!" I yell at Rory, the senior producer as I throw my script at him.

He pushes it right back to me. "Alright. Fine, Rowan. You walk, we sue."

"I have a contract that says I don't have to do this!"

"You have a proposed revision to your original contract  that the network never signed," Rory says with a smirk. He shoots Riley a look, "You never got a finalized, notarized copy, did you? I sure as hell didn't. I only got the word to make sure Row honors her verbal commitments to see Stella's arc through to its natural conclusion."

I look to Riley. He looks relaxed in his chair, hands folded in his lap. He's staring at the table.

"Riley?"

He looks at me. I see something in his eyes I hardly ever see. Uncertainty.

He doesn't know. He's not sure if Rory is just bullshitting, grandstanding, or if the contract was ever finalized.

"Can we have the room please?" he says.

"She has a trailer," Jones huffs.

That infuriates me. It's like a mile from the production offices to my trailer, which is not even in a paved lot. They are just trying to rattle Riley's cage.

If he is rattled, he refuses to show it. He rises, slowly, with the aid of his cane.

"Reconvene in a half-hour?" he says casually as he gestures me ahead of him, to the door.

"Take all the time you need. We all know what the outcome is going to be." Rory turns his back on us. "Chili, we need to talk about your new direction. Your storyline is really exciting this season. It's our main element—how you replace Stella."

Chili's eyes are on me. "If my storyline is so thrilling, why don't you just let Row go? You know she doesn't want to be here."

Rory scratches his dark goattee. "That's irrelevant. If we cheat the fan's of Stella's full story arc, we will lose viewers. She has to go out with a bang, so you can resurrect the band from its ashes."

Chili glares at Rory. I see the rebellion in her eyes. She's about to tell Rory to go fuck himself. She puts her hands on the table, to rise and walk out with me, but Riley takes two easy steps and sits down on the edge of the table, between her and Rory.

"Chili. This isn't your fight. We'll sort this out, love."

"I don't betray my friends," she says to him.

"No, you never do. You always shoot straight. That's what I respect about you most. But it's time you think about what you want. You've had to pivot too many times in your career, adjusting to other people's decisions. Taking your rightful place as the frontrunner on this show isn't a betrayal, if you want it."

She looks at Riley somewhat skeptically, but then she looks to me. "Is he speaking for you again, or do you really feel the same way?"

"You deserve to be in the spotlight, Chili. You always have," I say. "Although if I were you, I'd think long and hard about the workplace culture around here, and how far they might ask you to go to stay in character."

"Don't worry about that," Jones says hurriedly. "We've already done the drug cliché. What we want from your character is a completely new direction. We want to address the stigma of Doxie being hyper-sexualized as a rock star, but exploring herself on the sexuality spectrum."

"Just as long as you remember that no matter where Doxie ends up on the spectrum, that I'm bisexual, and I'm not going to label myself in any other way off-camera..."

"Of course. We would never ask you to do identify in any way that you're not...that's far too personal."

I roll my eyes. Like asking me to alter my entire body and appearance, risk my health staying below my natural weight, and pretty much stay in druggie character in my real life wasn't personal? Still, I'm fairly certain they mean what they say to Chili. They just don't see how what they did to me was damaging.

To my surprise, Chili looks to Riley. "What would you advise, Riley?"

"I'd advise keeping a paralegal instead of a PA on set, and getting every verbal promise they make to you drawn up and notarized on the spot," Riley smiles at her. "It'll keep them...honest." Riley says the word with such irony that I would almost laugh, if it weren't for my own dispute hanging over our head.

Chili's looking at me again. This is tough for her. She's such a fierce friend she really does feel like she's betraying me, playing ball with these assholes that are still pushing my buttons. "It's okay, Chill. Grab your star, girl. These guys just fucking hate me because they think I'm a diva."

"Not so much you," Rory drawls swinging his chair to roll his eyes at Riley.

"Right," Riley says without any emotion. "Well, this diva will probably take a long fucking time to walk to Row's trailer. Might take more than half an hour."

We haven't even made it outside the building before Riley is on the phone, insisting he be put through to the lawyer that handles my Girl Band contracts.

Twenty minutes later I'm sitting on top of the small round dining table in my trailer while Riley paces the length, from the stylists station to the wetbar.

He's on hold. He stops, leans on his cane, listens for a long time, then finally says, "Too bloody right you will. I'll be in touch."

He quietly pockets his phone and slides into the banquette. He's not looking at me, but at my folded legs, in front of his line of site. Eventually he lowers his head on them. "I fucked up, Row."

That's when I know Rory was right. I don't have a revised contract. I just have half a contract that I signed, but the network didn't. Fuck. This is bad. This is very very bad. I run my hands through Riley's dark, curling hair, down his neck, and start again.

"No, baby. They intentionally fucked us over, and the lawyers fucked up, but you didn't fuck up."

"It's my fault. I should have known. I should have followed up with the attorneys."

"It's not your fault. You should sue the dumbass lawyer that didn't do his job."

"Well to be fair, it's probably more his staff, but yes, he fucked up too. He's offering us free services for a year," he laughs. "Which is only fair, considering we're about to be buggered and good. You're going to be in breach of contract when we walk out of here. We can't prove a damn thing, except that our negotiation for a revised contract failed—was rejected by the network. We're going to be sued up the arse. Fuck me, I'm such a wanker for not seeing this coming down the pike."

I smile down at the back of Riley's head. For all his darlin'-ing, he's never going to be anything but my adorable British boy.

"Okay, but what if we don't walk?"

Beneath my hands, I feel him tense, but I keep soothing.

"Surely you don't mean that."

"I am not afraid of Aidan. I can shoot the scenes."

He sighs, fighting his anger. He throws himself back against the booth, staring at me with fire in his eyes. "You shouldn't bloody have to. I should have taken care of this."

"It's not your fault, but this is where we are."

"Fuck," he growls, throwing his cane down the length of the bus. He rubs his face, then scrapes through his hair. He closes his eyes and squeezes them shut. I know exactly what image he's closing his eyes against. "I don't want him fucking touching you."

I don't want him fucking touching me either. I get that this is too much to ask, from Riley. Whatever decision we make on this, we have to be one hundred percent together.

"Okay. Can I afford to get sued?"

His jaw clenches. "Row, in a few years you'll be ridiculously wealthy. Anyone in that situation can afford to get sued. It's just that in the short term, the judgment installments might possibly clean you out."

I give him a dead level look. "Okay, so in the meantime, can you afford to get our album made, if I'm flat broke?"

He's looking inward, calculating. "Yes, I think so. I'd have to sell most of my assets, of course."

"What assets?" Does Riley have properties, investments I don't know about?

"My MacLaren. I'm never going to drive the damn thing like it deserves again, anyway. The house in LA, of course, will be harder to part with."

My eyes widen. "Our home? Riley...couldn't we just take a loan from my dad?"

His face tightens into an automatic disdain for my suggestion but he takes a big breath and with some effort, relaxes his scowl. He stares past me, into the distance. "I suppose it's a possibility we should leave on the table, current situation being what it is."

His words are right, but I know he absolutely hates the idea. The one thing we've both agreed on, is we want to make this work on our own. It feels important, like a testament to our newly forged commitment. No more taking shit to the outside.

I slide off the table and straddle him. I take his face in mine as his hands settle on my hips. I search his eyes, light blue but rimmed with dark frustration. "Riley, do you know how much I love you?"

"Yes, I think so," he says without a touch of irony.

"Because you love me the same, you mean."

"Yes."

"So nothing is going to get in the way of that. Let's make the smart decision here, okay? Let's use our heads now, so we can sing our hearts out when this is fucking done. On our terms. I'd rather compromise now, than make you feel beholden to anyone but me, when it comes to our music."

Riley's jaw tightens. He's angry, and I can't blame him, but I know he's not angry with me. He sighs and slides a hand to my jaw, rubbing a finger across my lips.

"You are so fucking beautiful, do you know that?" he murmurs. "You've grown truly gorgeous, Rowan."

"Only because you make me feel beautiful."

He jerks me roughly to him, kisses me hard, unrelenting. Claiming me possessively because we both know the next few weeks are going to be fairly hellish. I give him everything I have in return. In ninety seconds flat he's tearing off the panties beneath my jean skirt, and I'm desperately trying to free his rigid cock and seat myself on him.

It's a hard, frantic fucking, but as always now, it's a gloriously long event. I ride him through two amazing orgasms, and we are drenched in sweat when he finally presses his face into my shoulder and comes with a long, satisfying growl.

"You're mine," he pants into my neck, licking sweat and biting very lightly—no marks this time. My skin needs to be camera ready.

"I'm yours," I promise him.

"Okay," he says, pushing up my hips, unseating me as he pats my butt lightly. "Why don't you go take a shower, re-do your make-up, yeah? I'll wipe down and change my shirt..."

"It's been more than half an hour," I remind him gently.

"Since they are getting exactly what they want? They can bloody well wait for it," he tells me calmly.

###

Row, two weeks later

One of the hardest moments Riley and I have weathered so far since our reconciliation happened this morning. It wasn't an argument exactly so much as an inability for us to decide what the healthiest thing for our relationship is today.

Today is the rehearsal of the love scene I have to do with Aidan tomorrow, and Riley and I couldn't decide if he should stay home or if he should watch.

To me, it was a no-brainer that he gets to decide. And yet he felt the exact opposite. He says I'm the one that has to expose myself in a way that I don't want to, and he doesn't want to make it any worse for me than it is. I honestly don't know what will make me more comfortable. He honestly doesn't know if he can watch it. We talked about it on an off for days and still hadn't reached a decision.

Finally this morning, as I lay wrapped in his arms in bed, I found my truth. "I'm so sorry if it's awful for you, but I think your imagination will make it worse for you than if you see it. I need you not to imagine worse, Riley. I need you there. I'm sorry, but I do."

"Well, then. Let's love through a difficult day, darling," he said grimly, reverting to him most elegant nickname for me, wrapping both his hands tenderly around my head and kissing the very top of it in the sweetest way I think he's ever kissed me. In that moment, with hurt and dread and discomfort looming ahead of us, he treated me with such gentleness. Like I was a treasure.

Today is mostly about motivation, costuming and blocking.

The scene, just so it can be the worst thing possible for Riley to see is a Stella seduction of Lars. They've hastily rewritten a short stint of rehab for Stella, which explains my "glow" and healthier weight. This is Stellars reunion, with Stella surprising him in his hotel room in the sexiest, classiest lingerie I've ever worn. It's gorgeous, and Parisian—black lace over nude French silk. There are so many pieces—bra, waist cincher with garter belt, tiny panties, stockings. I change into the bra, panties and stockings in the bedroom of my trailer. The costumer works on cinching my waist in the main compartment, but Riley dismisses her.

"But—"

"You can make adjustments on the set," he growls at her. Then he proceeds to tighten the laces on the cincher. Gently, very gently, as he stands behind me in the mirror, taking me in.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs.

I look away from the mirror. I know for sure, that even though he may appreciate the lingerie now, I will never buy anything close to this to wear for him, after he watches Aidan remove half of it.

"I think you're supposed to wear these," he slips opera length pearls over my head and knots them loosely. He pulls me gently to him with their length. "May I give you some advice?"

"Of course."

"Subvert your natural instinct to battle everyone on set. Don't fight with Aidan, and don't thwart Jones. Be professional, take direction during blocking. When it comes time for the run-through, make even me believe you want that fucker. The quicker you give them what they want the quicker this will be over."

He knows me. I was already planning to be as difficult as fucking possible, just for spite. I sigh. "That's asking a lot."

"I know. But it's asking a lot for me to be here, so please, don't make me watch Mosteller feel you up for ten hours today. Hot it up, and get it the bloody hell over."

"You're sure?" I search his eyes.

"Rowan, the very last thing I want is for you to spar with costar and your director today while they both lust over your tits and ass and fiery will. I like you willful. Save that sexy part for me, alright?"

I put my hands on his expensive, finely patterned button down and rub his pecs. "I'm saving everything for you. This is just a day at work." Delicately I nibble on his lip. After one long moment where I think he's so tense he's going to reject my overture, he sighs and reaches around me, embracing me and kissing me back softly, then pressing our foreheads together.

"If I fuck-up today, please know, I love you. I just fucking hate this."

"I do, too."

"I know."

I know has become one of our most comforting phrases. We never used to acknowledge each other that way, but two simple words help us reach across, understanding what the other is feeling, expressing that we believe one another.

He holds out my robe for me, and I put on my slippers and then the golf cart is taking us to the sound stage.

###

The first couple of hours of rehearsal are tolerable. Aidan and I don't have much interaction. Jones the director is the one doing what little touching is involved, standing in for Aidan, given us his vision of how he'd like Aidan to approach me, manipulate me, etc. There are so many people surrounding us, so much discussion, so many light meters and cameramen and PA's taking notes that it's almost a shield from Riley's presence. When I do manage to get eyes on him, he seem preoccupied with his phone—either making calls or checking emails. A couple of times we make eye contact and he gives me a steady, sober nod and a twitch of a smile.

But now it's time for the run-through. Since it's just video and not film, Jones records. His rehearsals are always a first take. We won't run all the dialogue with real expression, just enough to cue the blocking. Jones clears the set, but there are still a dozen people whose critical functions require they remain. When Riley also stays, Jones rolls his eyes. "You especially, Riley."

"It's never going to happen, mate. She asked me to stay," Riley says evenly.

Jones does the annoying director thing of coming over and trying to talk me out of it while pretending to be my best fucking friend who has my best interests at heart. "You're wasting your breath and everyone's time," I tell him. "Riley stays."

"You ought to cut the bloke a break and let him go," Aidan says, draping an arm over me. "He doesn't want to watch me fuck you, even its fake. I promise you that, love. I wouldn't, in his shoes."

Riley is watching Aidan with his arm around me, leaning in, whispering in my ear as he gestures toward Riley. It takes everything in me to simply step away from Aidan without screaming, scratching, possibly biting. But I remove myself from his embrace with no emotion whatsoever, for Riley's sake.

"Can we roll tape now?" I say to Jones.

"Eager?" He winks.

"Yes, to get it over with," I say flatly.

He snorts.

"Take your marks."

A series of confirmations from the lighting and sound guys, then Jones calls action.

The scene starts with Stella in a high backed swivel chair, facing away from Lars as he enters the hotel suite. I twirl in the chair, biting my pearls, drawing one high heeled foot up in the chair, splaying my legs. My display is probably pornographic but they'll frame just right so it's not. I'm the only one that will be made uncomfortable by the narrow strip of my panties.

"Caught your show," I say, without the feeling.

"Yeah? I didn't see you there." Aidan strips off his leather jacket and swaggers over. "Thoughts?"

I pretend to grin, but even to me it feels like a grimace. "Your set was a little flat. Need some inspiration?" I kick off a shoe and place my stocking foot on his chest, sliding it lower, lower. All at once, he scoops me out of the chair and wraps my legs around him.

There's a line I'm supposed to say, but I can't. I know what's coming, and I'm paralyzed with revulsion.

Aidan gives me the tiniest brow furrow at my dropped line, but he keeps going. By kissing me.

I've kissed him on set since the night I slept with him, and it always disgusts me, but the honest truth is, all the times before, I was a tiny bit high. I always took a couple of hits before those scenes, just to take the edge off my revulsion.

This time, I'm perfectly sober and as he probes my mouth, I can't help but shiver. And not in the good weigh. In the way the maggots made me shiver.

I pull away, my eyes going automatically to Riley. He's watching. When I meet his gaze, he bites his lip and closes his eyes, but somehow he manages to open them and nod to me encouragingly.

"Can we start again?" Aidan groans because I'm just staring into space at Riley.

"Do not stop tape," Jones countermands. "Row, just pick up at the kiss...remember he's your savior, the man that helped you get sober."

I close my eyes, thinking about the way Ashlynn kissed Leed on the beach in Hawaii. I flip my hair, give Lars Stella's best imitation of her completely adoring gaze as I put my hands on his face and kiss him thoroughly. I hold my breath because his cloying smell is absolutely nauseating to me.

"We aren't strong together, baby." Lars says to Stella. "I want us to be, but we aren't."

"Are you strong enough to say no to this?" Stella counters.

"Hell no," he growls and throws me on the bed.

I scramble to my knees, legs spread wide as he strips off his shirt. Tomorrow he will have Lars fake tats, but today his chest is exactly the same as the when we slept together. I look over his shoulder at Riley, who is staring squarely at Aidan's back, his face expressionless. He won't look at me as Aidan circles the bed, like a predator, finally crawling on from the side, behind me. I wince as he hands slide up my belly and cup by bra-clad breasts.

Jones doesn't stop tape but he walks over to me and lightly takes my chin in hand, turning my head up and over for the camera angle he wants. "This is a close-up. You are dying for him, right? You've been drugless and drinkless and sexless in rehab for six weeks. He is your X, the wine you're craving, you favorite fuck.

He was none of those things. I pull my chin away from Jones, but I think about the abandon of coke and how crazed with lust it used to make me feel, and I hope some of that is coming through. Through the corner of my eye I see Jones loop his hand in the "keep rolling" signal.

Aidan curls his fingers over my bra cups, the implication being that he will be jerking them down to feel my naked breasts. I remember him behind me, just like this, tugging my bra down, in just the same way.

That's when I start to feel the sting of tears.

I don't want this. This is not art. At best this is just a story I don't want to be a part of. For me personally, this is a hellish feedback loop of the biggest mistake of my life.

I put my hands over his, trying to stop him, and he moves them. One to my hip, one to my back as he pushes my forward onto my hands. Then both his hands are on my hips and he's drawing me back, circling my hips suggestively, brushing up against me. My eyes are closed because I can't open them. I can't watch Riley watching this.

Aidan gathers my hair in his hand and tugs lightly pulling my head back, leaving my throat exposed. He thrust two fingers into my mouth, pulling my jaw down.

I open my eyes, meet Riley's devastated gaze, and I gag. The violent reflex breaks loose a damn of sorrow in me, and I am no longer on set. I am in that resort bungalow, my face pressed to the mattress, a minute in to the worst mistake of my life, wishing I could die.

Oh my god, what did I do? Seeing the pain in Riley's eyes, I want to fucking die.

Suddenly I am retching and crying and slapping Aidan's hand away, trying to crawl away from him, but he still has my hair in one hand.

"Come on baby, relax," Aidan puts his hand around my thigh, trying to prevent me from getting away. His fingers, brush a little too high, his grip is firm, his tug on my hair too harsh. This feels like an assault, not a job.

Fuck this shit. There's not enough money in the world to make his hands on me worth it. With or without Riley watching. I can't abide this horrific mockery of my betrayal.

"Get the fuck off me," I scream, hysterical now, flailing away from him, gasping, feeling like I can't get air, crawling off the bed, stumbling to Riley.

"Jesus Row," Aidan groans. "Overreact much?"

"Goddammit," Rory moans. "I knew this wasn't going to work with him here," he flails an accusatory hand at Riley. "Get the fuck off the set, man. Somebody get her a Valium."

I slam into Riley and nearly knock him over with the force of my fear. He recovers, dropping his cane and holding onto me tight. "It's okay," he murmurs into my hair. "It's okay."

"It's not. I can't do this. I can't Riley. It feels...awful. I thought I could, but I can't."

"Alright. Alright." His hands are on the sides of my heads, moving me gently so that I meet his calming gaze. "You don't have to. You don't have to do anything you feel you can't. I promise you that."

"Like hell she doesn't," Rory says.

"It's not going to work," Riley tells him. "She's not doing this. You'll have to cut the scene—"

"We're not cutting any fucking thing. Do you know how many goddamn times we've rewritten scenes last season, all because of her block in delivering with Aidan? It's not our fault she fucked him and regrets it."

I wish I could say I had some shining moment where I delivered a scathing rebuke to my producer and stormed off set, never to return. Instead, I hid my face and cried on Riley's shoulder. Of course I knew that everyone knew, but this is a true degradation, to have it announced with such venomous disgust across the set, in front of a dozen members of the crew.

"We're done here. Send us over a new script for episode one, if you want her back," Riley says, slipping to my side, trying to encourage me to move with him.

"Rowan, you walk off this soundstage, the next thing Girl Band sends you will be a notice of lawsuit, not a script."

"Let's go," Riley says to me.

I grip his sleeve, dash away tears, try to breathe, search his eyes. They are calm, resolved. "Let's go, darling," he says.

"We can't. We'll be...ruined. Our finances, our reputations..."

He shakes his head with a calm smile. "Doesn't matter. Nothing matters but you and me. We can simply walk. It's alright. Trust me. I will find a way to make it alright."

He holds out his hand to me. I look down at mine, scarred from a trauma that completely blindsided me, upended plans. Riley was my anchor, the person who still believed in me, the person who helped me pivot when I flailing.

I love him so much, I truly believe what he says. That he will find a way to get us out of another mess. I know everything about my life is probably going to change again. I'm going to get sued, and I'm going to be without all the resources I've always known, and Hollywood trade magazines are going to call me a perpetual quitter, I'm probably not even going to let my dad bail me out financially, because I'm finally putting all my trust in Riley. In us. In what we can do, become, create.

"I know you will," I say. I place my scarred hand in his, and we walk off the soundstage into a once-again uncertain future. This time, for the first time, maybe, I feel like we are true partners.